by Randy Grim
At first, I argued about the financial costs associated with raising a kid (he’d get a second job), followed with time commitments (he’d quit his second job), and after exhausting a move to the suburbs (“an adventure”), making friends with Republican neighbors (“multicultural expansion”), and the purchase of a Volvo (“one small sacrifice”), I finally argued the obvious.
“But who would actually take care of it?”
“The Volvo?”
“The heir.”
To which he had no response.
So, when I arrived at Sandy’s house with the can of dependable pennies, I rang the doorbell with the knowledge that I had no knowledge about how one copes with both dogs and children in the same house. My mission of going straight to the source for answers, however, turned south the minute she opened the door.
Dogs bayed, children howled, somewhere a television blared. The chaos overwhelmed me, and as I stepped in and tried in vain to get my bearings, a phone rang in another room. Sandy handed me one of the midgets and then disappeared.
The midget smelled like a skunk. I held him/her out in front of me at arm’s length, and the second he/she got a good look at me, he/she screamed. This got the dogs all excited about a possible game of Grab Dangling Sock from Baby’s Foot, and as they danced in circles under his/her wildly flailing legs, I danced in circles in the opposite direction, engrossed in my own game of Keep Feet Attached to Baby Until Mother Returns.
I ran out of breath before the inevitable. The sock was lost to Mitzy, a small black-and-white street dog we’d rescued several years before, and as she raced around the room with her new prize, I couldn’t help but compare the before and after.
My assistant Jenn and I had found Mitzy huddled under a trailer at an abandoned worksite, shaking from cold and starvation. Her rescue should have been an easy one. She was small for a street dog, too weak to run and too scared to bite, but as we tried pulling her out from under the trailer, she dug her nails into the frozen ground and held on with the stubbornness of a pit bull.
“Come on, sweetie—no one’s going to hurt you.”
With a pit bull, you can grab their dense muscles with the strength of a vise, but this little thing was so thin and frail, I worried I’d break every bone in her body if I pulled too hard.
“No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
Her tenacity surprised me. Usually the small dogs we rescued were victims of abuse, and while their fear of more pain might cause them to run, if cornered, their only defense was no defense, so they usually cowered submissively in acknowledgment of their size. This little girl, though, directed every ounce of strength left in her body to her clawing nails, and she clung with courage to her spot. Even the hot-dog lure, which no starving dog can resist, didn’t work.
In the end, we resorted to using a noose, and as we pulled her out, thrashing against its hold, the reason for her fight appeared: two dead, frozen puppies underneath her, which she had tried in vain to keep warm.
Her whimpers for them, which turned to gut-wrenching yelps the farther we walked away, haunted me for weeks.
So, I let her keep the sock.
As the other two dogs chased Mitzy across the couch, under the coffee table, and over the chairs, Baby wailed so hard in my outstretched arms that snot bubbled and spewed from his/her nose like lava from a hyperactive volcano. Meanwhile, out of nowhere, Sandy’s other child entered the room in a round baby-walker thing, and when, lost in their frenzy, the dogs bumped into it one by one, the walker and its inhabitant spun in circles with the centrifugal force of a carnival ride.
With the dogs out of control and both children now screaming, I decided the best thing to do was leave. I maneuvered Baby through the dogs to the couch and plopped him/her down.
“SIT.”
Then I uprighted the overturned baby-walker thing.
“STAY.”
Then I grabbed the sock from the mouth of one of the bigger dogs and gave it back to Mitzy.
Then I headed for the door.
This letter of advice might have ended abruptly here with “Don’t have children,” had I not seen the can of pennies, which must have dropped out of my hands during the first few horrifying minutes of my arrival.
I use the can of pennies—about twenty does the trick—as part of my EZ dog-training system for overall rude and/or rowdy behavior.
The Can of Pennies System:
If the dog barks too much, shake the can of pennies and he’ll stop.
If the dog stares at you while you eat, shake the can of pennies, and he’ll go stare at someone else.
If the dog jumps up on you every time you walk through the door, shake the can of pennies, and he’ll run and hide instead.
I keep about twelve cans of pennies in strategic locations throughout my house, and if I even reach for one, halos appear above my dogsheads and they all but bow in my presence.
Slowly, to increase the surprise, I bent down and picked up the can of pennies at Sandy’s door. Then I turned and faced the rioters, which now included Mitzy and another dog playing tug-of-war with Baby’s sock on top of the coffee table, Baby on the couch howling as another dog licked snot off his/her face, and the child in the baby-walker thing spinning in circles and shrieking with outstretched arms for his/her mother.
With the stony calm of Lady Liberty, I raised the can of pennies above my head, inhaled deeply, and then ... I shook it.
Every head in the room jerked my way, each with dropped jaws, widened eyes, and its own version of WHAT-IN-THE-HELL-WAS- THAT? plastered across its face.
And just like that, complete silence.
From that point on, if one of the heirs scowled or squeaked, or if one of the dogs even thought of resuming their little party, I shook the can of pennies and restored quiet so that by the time Sandy waltzed back into the room, all five members of the uprising sat in a row on the couch like shiny little trophies on a mantelpiece.
“Wow,” Sandy said as she stared suspiciously, hands on hips, at the couch.
The only problem with supreme power, a.k.a. a can of twenty pennies, is that it doesn’t work on sneaky behavior—the stuff that kids and dogs do when you aren’t looking. It also doesn’t work on psychological issues and can, in some cases, make them worse. Sandy claimed, for instance, that if you shook a can of pennies at your kid every time he/she wouldn’t eat their broccoli, he/she would end up with an eating disorder.
“Could you spray the kid in the face with the water bottle instead?” I asked.
Spraying dogs with the water bottle is much like shaking a can of pennies in that it’s an unpleasant experience they learn to associate with certain behaviors. It works particularly well have a dog who eats turds out of the litter box (see chapter 5), all you have to do is add a little lemon juice or Tabasco sauce and voilà—marinated turds they won’t touch.
Which brings me back to the letter-writer’s first complaint: Buffy knocks over the Diaper Genie and pulls out dirty diapers.
Try this: Keep a spray bottle of water mixed with lemon juice and Tabasco sauce next to the Diaper Genie (whatever that is), and each time the apprentice pooper delivers a load, squirt the diaper with your special little marinade, and I guarantee the dogs won’t go near it more than once.
The squirt bottle (filled with plain water) is also good for when baby starts to crawl. One of the biggest complaints I get is that the dog steps on the baby once he/she is on all fours, and if you just yell, “Don’t stomp the baby,” and give the dog a squirt each time, he’ll leave the new plaything alone. You wouldn’t even have to leave the couch with this method.
Which brings me to the letter-writer’s second complaint: Another problem is her licking. After feeding the baby, or when the baby is sitting in her pumpkin seat, Buffy will not leave her alone. She wants to lick her constantly. I find it disgusting and unsanitary.
Well, you got the kid in the first place by swapping a little spit ... but I guess that’s irrelevant at this poin
t. I suppose spraying the baby’s face with lemon juice and Tabasco sauce is off limits too ...
Try this: Whenever Buffy tries to kiss the kid, shake the can of pennies. It gets no easier than that.
If, however, you’re hell-bent on making this complicated, you can send Buffy to obedience class once a week. While I would have started planning this out well before the kid arrived, better late than never. An obedience class not only ensures that your dog is well behaved, but it also builds a strong foundation of socialization experience, because a dog who learns to handle himself in a crowded room filled with other dogs and people will also handle himself around the baby.
I’ve come to understand, though, via letters, e-mails, and phone messages, usually from moms who sound like Tony Soprano—“I don’t have !@#!-ING time to take a !@#!-ING shower. I haven’t had a !@#!-ING shower in SIX !@#!-ING WEEKS and you want me to take the !@#!-ING dog to an obedience class once a !@#!-ING week?!?”—that this suggestion may not be appropriate during your time of distress. (Note to Self: Send condolence cards to all new parents in future.)
So instead of leaving the house once a week without having had a shower in six, teach the dog to sit by placing a food treat on her nose. Then raise the treat over her head so that as her eyes follow it up, her back end drops to the floor. As soon as this happens, give her the treat. Whenever the dog wants anything—to be petted, fed, played with, let outside—she must sit first.
Next, spread a baby blanket on the floor and place a baby doll or stuffed animal in the center. Bring your dog to the blanket and tell her to sit, and when she does, reward her with a treat. Eventually, she will learn that when she approaches the blanket, she’s to sit near the edge no matter how interesting the object on it may be.
This approach obviously works better if you use it before the stork delivers the little bundle of stress, so if you’re in this lucky position, consider the following as well:
Get the dog used to baby items, including rattles, blankets, the nifty Diaper Genie, and the pumpkin-pie seat. In essence, desensitize the dog to anything associated with the baby, especially the nursery.
Start by keeping the nursery door closed more often, and always at night, and use the sit command before she can enter the room. Once she’s allowed to enter the nursery—if at all—make her sit by both the crib and the changing table.
You also want to desensitize the dog to baby smells. Consider dusting the house with baby powder, and then borrow some unwashed baby blankets from a friend, which you then place on the floor. If the dog so much as sniffs the blanket, let alone tries to lie down on it, shake your can of pennies or give her a squirt with the water gun and redirect her to a more appropriate place.
Once in a great while, a new parent calls me and says the family dog growls at the new baby. I stress those two words, because the situation usually only occurs when this is a family’s first baby and is nothing more than a temporary case of newsibling jealousy.
Think about it: For thousands of years, we’ve selectively bred as much of the wolf out of the dog as we can, which means we’re basically left with a hairy two-year-old kid who makes a lot of noise and licks his own butt. Like a toddler, he depends on us for everything. He can’t hunt, he can’t problem-solve, he can’t imagine any world besides his own, so when you—his parent—bring home someone else, routines, affections, and everything else and then some changes.
He is, in effect, confused.
So make it easy for him to understand. Whenever you hold the baby, reward the dog; whenever you feed the baby, feed the dog; whenever you change the baby’s diaper, give the dog a treat. If you reward your dog every time he comes near the baby (and sits on command), it won’t be long before the baby becomes your dog’s favorite person, besides you.
Finally, never punish the dog for growling, because that only teaches him not to warn before biting. Remember, growling is not a bad thing—it’s the only way your dog has of warning your child that he/she is too close, too smelly, or too annoying.
As a last resort, you can always put the baby in a plastic bubble (which would be my choice, personally). It would make for great conversation when you have company and could be great exercise for the baby.
Quick Fix-4
CHAPTER NINE
Bullies with an Attitude
Dear Randy,
You talked with my wife, Darla, a couple of weeks ago about Copper, a dog we adopted from Stray Rescue. Please contact us as soon as possible to make arrangements for her to be returned to your organization.
Copper is a very dominant alpha female. Sometimes it’s either her way or no way. We have had her for about a year and a half. We think she is about three or four years old.
There were some times in the past where she tried to enforce her dominance over me to the point of not allowing me to get into my side of the bed at night. She also refuses to let us cut her nails to the point of snapping at Darla. With all the dogs we have ever had, we have always brushed them and clipped their nails with no problems.
We are not interested in a behavioral analysis. As I stated above, I appeal to you to please take her back. Perhaps she would be better off on a farm or something like that, but at any rate, I will no longer put up with these incidents.
Sorry, Randy; we tried to make it work out, but the situation has gone beyond what we think is a reasonable attempt to straighten her out.
Sincerely,
The Dumps
Dear Mr. Dump,
First: Please advise me where this magical “farm” is located—the one that you and every other dog dumper believe exists. I’ve never found it, and believe me, I’ve looked.
Second: What does Copper’s dominance issues have to do with a farm anyway? Can Copper milk cows and feed the chickens?
Third: (Grab a stiff drink, because this will hurt.) Unbeknownst to you, I talked to your wife on the phone, and she really doesn’t want to give Copper up. In fact, she called me looking for “secret advice,” and when I asked her why it needed to be secret, she told me you “made all the decisions in the household” and would be “furious” if you knew she’d called me. I won’t damage your ego any further by telling you what advice I gave her ...
Sincerely,
Randy Grim
(Note to Reader: I’m not betraying Mrs. Dump’s confidence by revealing her phone call, because she followed my advice and dumped Mr. Dump not long after this incident.)
While aggression in dogs takes several forms, if their behavior involves any of the following, I’d bet my secret stash of Reese’s Peanut Butter
Cups that it’s dominance aggression:
She growls at you when you get near her food bowl, take a toy away from her, or try to get into bed when she’s already there.
She acts aggressively toward some family members and not others.
She insists on being petted sometimes and growls when you do it at other times (especially when she’s resting).
It’s easy to confuse dominance aggression with fear aggression (see chapter 10), but if a dog growls at you from a crouched position with her eyes averted, then it’s fear, and if she growls while in an upright position, staring at you with a look that says, “You are a quarter-pounder,” then it’s dominance.
Whenever a person contacts me about a dominant-aggressive dog, I first run them through Randy’s Power-Freak Personality Disorder Test, because many people who have dominance issues with their dogs also have dominance issues with their people. Dr. Gupta says they have asymmetrical dyadic relationships, which sounds like they worship Satan, because they try to control others by limiting choices, and using physical or psychological abuse, but I just call them people who shouldn’t have dogs. (Note to Self: Consider replacing the MEAN PEOPLE Suck bumper sticker on my van with ASYMMETRICAL DYADIC PEOPLE Suck.) So Part I of my test consists of starting a few sentences and then ... pausing.
“So you’re calling about ...”
“... Copper.”
“Y
ou said in your e-mail that Copper growls when you get into ...”
“... bed.”
“And she doesn’t like her toenails ...”
“... trimmed.”
If they finish the sentence for me, then I move on to Part II, which I designed with the following cleverly camouflaged questions:
Do you reprimand your wife when she buys the wrong toothpaste?
Do you think the world would be a better place if you ran it?
Do you yearn to wear a crown?
Do you identify with your inner ape?
If they answer “Well ... yeah,” as if they were stupid questions, then I move on to Part III, which is asking them what their address is, and what time I should pick up the dog.
Usually, and unfortunately, the reason dominance-aggression problems arise between dogs and their people is that the people don’t know how to lead. All too often, I receive calls and e-mails laced with phrases including “I did an alpha roll,” “I stared him down,” and “I made him submit,” but in most cases the e-mails end with, “and he bit me anyway.” So, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: DO NOT EVER try to dominate an aggressive dog physically unless you like visiting emergency rooms. DO NOT stare him down. DO NOT attempt the so-called alpha roll, which I explain below. DO NOT yell, hit, or challenge him in any way, because he will eventually take your arm off in an attempt to save the family.
Yes, in an attempt to save the family.
Here’s what’s going on: Researchers who studied wolves years ago thought packs organized themselves according to a hierarchy of physical power, with the strongest male and female dominating the others with force. They based this theory on what they thought they saw: alpha males and females forcing subordinates to grovel by flipping them to the ground and then staring them into submission as if they were in a WWF wrestling match. They called it the “alpha roll,” not related to the popular egg roll, and it eventually became a trendy dog-training technique in which people were told, among other things, to grab an aggressive dog by the neck, force it down onto its back, and then hold the sides of his cheeks while staring directly into his eyes. Advocates of the alpha roll and other physical techniques (including—I’m not kidding—hanging dogs from trees and choking them nearly to death) thought that if wolves used force to control the pack, people should too.
